Chapter 258: We Could Form an

Wang Wenwu quickly recorded, admiration in his eyes: "The President is far‑sighted."

"Also," Chen Feng added, "Dongxiang Pingbalang's 'Yellow Race Hand‑in‑Hand' theory, although we pushed it back, actually… has some point."

Everyone looked at him.

"Not hand‑in‑hand now, but in the future." Chen Feng said, "Deleted a lot."

He smiled: "But that's a matter for far later."

The meeting went on for another hour, discussing every detail of the treaty's implementation. After it adjourned, Chen Feng walked alone onto the balcony.

In the distance at the pier, Badaweiya was slowly departing. The battered ship trailed black smoke, like an injured old dog, stumbling away.

Chen Feng watched it, feeling little joy of victory, only a heavy sense of responsibility.

Winning the war is only the beginning. How to turn victory into lasting peace and development, how to make Lanfang truly a respected great nation, how to ensure overseas Chinese are never again humiliated…

These are far harder than winning a naval battle.

But he is confident. Because he has the whole country as backing, millions of overseas Chinese's expectations, and an east wind of a rising era.

A telegram arrived! It's Lin Hai!

"President, everything is ready, we can set out to return home at any time."

"Good." Chen Feng said, "Depart early tomorrow. I want to get back to Dubai soon; there are many things to do."

At that moment Chen Feng cast one last glance at the departing Badaweiya. The ship had become a tiny black dot, about to vanish over the horizon.

"Sinei Zhengyi, Shanben Quanbingwei, Dongxiang Pingbalang…" he whispered the names, "You are the mourners of the old era. What we must do is build a new era."

The sea wind blew in, carrying a salty, briny scent, also the smell of hope.

Badaweiya sailed out of Kundian Port into the Java Sea. The setting sun sank, dyeing the sea surface a blood‑red.

Shanben Quanbingwei stood at the bow, watching the blood‑colored sea. He had already taken off his Navy Minister uniform, changed into a plain black kimono. He carefully folded the uniform, placed it in a box together with his medals.

He knew that after returning home, he would resign from all posts. Then… then he would go to a quiet place, and end it all in the traditional way.

But before that, he still had one thing to do.

He entered Dongxiang Pingbalang's room. The old man was reading a book, an English copy of "The Influence of Sea Power"—Mahan's work—but the pages were filled with notes.

"Marshal." Shanben bowed.

"Sit." Dongxiang set the book down, "Do you have business with me?"

Shanben sat opposite, remained silent for a long time, then said, "After returning home… I intend to commit seppuku."

Dongxiang was not surprised, just calmly looked at him, "Have you decided?"

"I've decided." Shanben nodded, "The navy's ruin is in my hands, the empire's dignity is in my hands. As Navy Minister, I must take responsibility."

"There are many ways to be responsible," Dongxiang said, "Seppuku is the simplest. Living, rebuilding the navy, passing on the lessons—that's true responsibility."

"But I can't." Shanben's voice choked, "Every time I close my eyes, I see Vajra burning, see those young sailors jumping into the sea, see merchant ships sinking one after another… I can't pretend nothing happened and stay in the Navy Minister's seat."

Dongxiang sighed. He understood Shanben's pain. He had experienced similar anguish in his youth—though not as severe.

"Shanben," the old man said slowly, "Why do you think I voluntarily asked to join the negotiations?"

Shanben was startled.

"It's not to secure better terms for the Sakura Nation—I know that's impossible. Nor to witness the empire's disgrace—I'm not that perverse." Dongxiang's gaze grew distant, "I came to see with my own eyes what kind of country the ones who defeated us built. To understand where we truly lost."

He paused: "Now I understand. We lost by treating the nation as a war machine, while Lanfang builds the nation as a home. We lost by trying to become another Western power, while Lanfang forges its own path. We lost because… our eyes see only opponents, no future."

"So?" Shanben asked, "What does understanding achieve?"

"Understanding lets us start anew," Dongxiang said, "But a fresh start needs people. People who understand failure, learn the lessons, and have the resolve to change. Shanben, you are one of the navy's most talented officers, still young, with twenty or thirty years ahead. If you die now, the navy loses a hope for its future."

He stood, walked to Shanben's side, placed a hand on his shoulder: "Living requires more courage than dying. Carry this shame and live, rebuild the navy from ruins, so future Japanese need not bear today's disgrace—that is true Bushido."

Shanben lowered his head, his shoulders trembling. After a long while, he asked, "But… how should I face the families of the dead? How to face the public's scorn?"

"Tell them the truth," Dongxiang said, "Tell them why we lost, what kind of opponent we lost to, and what path to take thereafter. No shirking responsibility, no excuses—just openly admit: we were wrong, we lost, we must change."

He looked at Shanben: "It's very hard. A hundred times harder than seppuku. But if you can do it, you're not a coward, you're a true hero—a hero who dares to face failure and lead the country to rise again."

Shanben lifted his head, eyes full of tears: "Marshal… can you do it?"

"I'm old, I can't do it," Dongxiang chuckled wryly, "But you're still young. So Shanben, I ask you—don't die. Live, pass the navy's flame onward. Even if in the future the navy has only a few small ships, make those aboard understand: naval glory lies not in size, but in spirit."

The sun fully sank below the horizon, the room darkened. In the distance, a Lanfang navy destroyer patrolled, its lights flickering in the dusk, as if reminding them: the new era has arrived, whether you like it or not.

Shanben stood, bowed deeply: "I understand. I will… live on. Do everything I can to rebuild the navy."

"Good." Dongxiang nodded, "Then let's agree—ten years from now, we'll return to see this sea. See what the Japanese navy looks like then."

"Ten years…"

"Yes, ten years. Not too long nor too short, enough to start anew."

The two said nothing, standing shoulder to shoulder at the porthole, watching the sea grow darker outside. Badaweiya's dilapidated engine roared, the hull swaying in the waves.

Yet this time, the sway seemed to carry a new rhythm—not frantic escape, but resolute return.

Though the home we return to is scarred, though the road ahead is long and dark.

As long as we are alive, as long as we still wish to change, hope remains.

In the distance, that Lanfang destroyer blew its whistle. The sound lingered, echoing in the dusk, like a farewell and a reminder:

One era has ended.

Another era has just begun.